


For Wonderful Domesticity

by Tehri



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hatemance Crackship lives, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Romance, Told myself I'd never write that one, and yet here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17778425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: Love sometimes finds the most unlikely people and pushes them together. Sometimes it is wanted - other times, not so much. And yet it is for love that they remain with each other.Short moments in the lives of different couples.





	1. A very lucky hobbit

Fosco Hornblower sometimes counted himself a very lucky hobbit. It was not something he bragged about – after all, being born the youngest child of the head of the Hornblower-family was perhaps not the epitome of luck. But it came with its perks, and his position at the very least meant that he did not have to stay in his family’s home in the Southfarthing as his eldest brother did. And of course he had some small holdings that he could count as his own, which was a small mercy and provided him with a fair income of his own. His father was perhaps not the most generous of hobbits – some even argued that master Hornblower was even stingier with money than the Thain – but at the very least the old hobbit tried to ensure that all of his children would have something to their name.

No, the luck was not in his name or in his holdings. He considered himself lucky only in the bonds he had forged over the years – especially when it came to his wife.

Pearl Took, the eldest child of the Thain, was quite a catch – that is, if one thought such remarks polite to use. Even despite the rumours that used to fly about her, and that in some cases still existed and did the rounds every now and then, there had been plenty of hobbits vying for her attention. She’d been briefly attached to one of Fosco’s friends, though that particular attachment had ended as soon as the lad made the mistake of making a rather uncouth remark about her in the presence of her family – and within arm’s reach of Pearl herself. Fosco had been told that she in response had snatched up the cane of old Ferumbras Took and that she had broken it on her former intended’s jaw, and that had been the end of it. Thain Ferumbras hadn’t even been angry about the loss of his cane, but had found the reason for its loss quite amusing and well deserved.

That Fosco himself had come to meet Pearl was a result of his own polite nature. He’d spotted her at the summer fair that same year, and he’d gone over to her to have a chat and to apologise for his friend’s behaviour. She’d laughed then, and told him to not be ridiculous – such folk needed no favours, she told him. And as they spoke, his friend had come to them in an attempt to regain Pearl’s affection; an attempt that, admittedly, ended in disaster. He’d not been able to keep his mouth shut, and soon enough there were more rude remarks made – and Fosco, entirely fed up with that sort of behaviour, lost his temper and struck him.

Whether Pearl had been impressed with his show of strength or simply the fact that he had struck his own friend, Fosco did not know. He didn’t ask, either. But it was not long before Pearl, in her own rather roundabout way, showed up in the Southfarthing to speak with him; they reached an understanding and were betrothed very soon after that. Despite a little bit of friction here and there regarding their families, they had courted and been wed two years before Pearl’s father became Thain of the Shire. And since then, life had felt glorious.

After having spent a few weeks in the Southfarthing with his family, it was a surprising relief for Fosco to return to the Great Smials in Tuckborough. Pearl had declined to come with him for the visit, though she had grumbled endlessly about having to spend so much time away from him. But he was glad to come home to the small rooms they shared, briefly leaving his travel-case by the door, to find her seated by the little hearth, bent over the table there as she was seemingly going through a small stack of correspondence.

“Your brother is driving me bonkers,” she said by way of greeting when he came over to her and leant down and kissed her cheek. “Do you know what this entire pile is? Advice. Entirely unwanted, I might add.”

“He means well,” Fosco said kindly, though he couldn’t help but chuckle as he spoke. They’d had similar conversations before. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning over the back of the small settee, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “What is he trying to help us with this time? He certainly said nothing about this to me when I was there.”

“Children,” Pearl answered. Something in her tone was quite telling as to her mood, and he couldn’t help but sigh and lean his head against her shoulder. This was something that his family did not seem to understand, and something he had discussed with Pearl many times before. “It’s amazing that he simply refuses to give up. He’s suggested at least once that one of us must have problems performing, as it were.”

Fosco groaned quietly in response. The persistence of his family was becoming simply ridiculous. While he certainly would not have minded having a child or two, he would not force Pearl into anything when she had been very firm on that she did not want children. They’d discussed it at great length even before they were wed, and Pearl had certainly not changed her mind in the slightest for all that Fosco’s mother had claimed that she would. But Pearl’s parents, Paladin and Eglantine, had sighed and told Fosco that if their daughter was that adamant on the subject, then that was simply how it would be. And Fosco was much of the same mind as them – after all, they raised the lass and knew her very well.

“He means well,” he repeated weakly when Pearl reached out and trailed her fingers through his hair. “He really does.”

“Oh, I know that.” Pearl laughed softly and turned her head, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “But perhaps your brother doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“That,” said Fosco, “is quite an understatement.” He reluctantly released her and took a step back from the settee, stretching as he did so. “But he’ll have to realise soon that there’ll be no little nephews or nieces for him, at least not from us.”

Though he wanted little else than to sit down beside his wife and give her what news he could of the doings of his relatives, he had only just returned home after spending the majority of the day in a pony-trap; a change of clothing, at the very least, was needed. And even as he went to fetch his travel-case to go and unpack, he noticed dust-stains on his trousers and couldn’t quite help but to wrinkle his nose at the sight.

He’d scarcely gotten to the bedroom, much less gotten to open the travel-case, before a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind and soft lips touched the nape of his neck.

“I’ve missed you,” Pearl murmured. “It gets so lonely without you here.”

“You have your family here,” Fosco reminded her. He felt his cheeks heat as she moved slightly to press a kiss to his jaw. “And I wasn’t gone for that long.”

“Weeks,” she insisted. “Weeks without someone beside me at night. I’m not used to that anymore.”

He chuckled softly and turned in her grasp to embrace her. Well, he could hardly deny that he’d felt much the same way; they’d rarely been apart once they’d been wed, and oftentimes Pearl would come with him when he went to visit his family. But on the few occasions that they had been away from each other, it had been nothing less than torture.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said softly. “And I’m glad to be home, dear heart.”

Home, and back in her arms.


	2. For your sake

In the late summer after the end of the Troubles, Fredegar found a bit of a problem presented to him. He’d been bedridden for most of the time, weak as he’d been when he’d been carried out of the Lockholes in the late autumn. He’d been unable to stand on his own, and he had lost an alarming amount of weight.

Relieved though he’d been to see that the friends who’d left the Shire were back, that they were hale and safe, he’d not been blind to the changes they’d gone through. Whatever they had been through on their journey, they were not the same hobbits as when they left. In a way, Fredegar couldn’t help but feel that he’d lost his friends entirely. And once the work began to return the Shire to what it once was, he saw less of them than he’d expected. They were busy – Frodo served as the Mayor’s deputy, Merry and Pippin both had their duties as heirs to the Brandybucks and the Tooks, and dear old Sam seemed to be on a mission to heal the Shire somehow – and only Merry found the time to come and visit Budgeford occasionally.

The one friend who continuously came to see him, and who stayed for several days on end every time, was Folco Boffin. They’d been close friends since childhood, and it had been Fredegar who had introduced Folco to the rest of the group. Of course Folco was related to most of them one way or another – they all shared Took-blood to some degree – but he had never spent much time with his Brandybuck- or Took-relatives before aside from Fredegar. And of course his chatty nature could oftentimes land him in trouble, especially with hobbits that were not too sure of what to make of him or his jokes. Merry especially took the jokes badly, if only because their egos clashed; but Folco would laugh it off and say that the Brandybuck needed to stop tying himself into knots.

Yes, Folco was always there and seemed glad to be by Fredegar’s side while he recuperated. The young Boffin oftentimes brought baked goods from home, or took command of the kitchens in the Bolger-home to cook for his friend.

“It isn’t healthy for you to look like this,” he argued the one time Fredegar had tried to say that he couldn’t possibly eat all that had been cooked. “And you shan’t go back to a respectable weight unless you eat! Here, see? Shepherd’s pie, your favourite! Now, I don’t expect you to eat all of it – I’ll gladly have a piece, I know my recipe is excellent.”

And though he sometimes argued that he couldn’t be fattened up like a goose, Fredegar felt quite grateful for the attention. It was one thing that his family cared for him and wanted him to be safe, but it somehow meant so much more that Folco was still by his side.

Still, there was one thing he dreaded, and which he thought of as summer began to come to an end. He’d gained quite a bit of weight, though he was nowhere near his original size, and he was at the very least able to go outside more often and for longer periods. And he began to think of what the previous two years had been like and all the worries they had brought. And with those thoughts came the realisation that he would have to talk to Folco soon about what had really happened.

Folco had not been part of the Conspiracy to help Frodo leave the Shire. He’d known of the move to Crickhollow, and had indeed helped with it, but he’d never been told of the true reason behind it all. Nor had he known of Fredegar’s involvement. Merry had argued that it was best to keep good old Folco in the dark about it all, lest he talk too much to the wrong person.

“You know he would blab about it,” Merry had said when Fredegar had tried to defend his friend. “Nothing ill about Folco, but he doesn’t know when to keep his trap shut. It’s better this way.”

And still, Folco had never asked. He must have realised, Fredegar thought, that something wasn’t quite right and that they’d pulled the wool over his eyes, as it were. But he never asked. He often mentioned their friends having gone off on an adventure, but he never asked about the details and never tried to ply anyone for the truth.

So one day in early Halimath, during another of Folco’s very frequent visits, Fredegar sat him down to talk. But he’d scarcely gotten to say what he wanted to talk about, and he’d only started to slowly and with a good deal of stuttering attempt to explain the whole tedious business, when Folco reached out and took his hand.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said kindly. He gave a wry little smile and shook his head. “Truly, Fatty, you don’t have to tell me if it pains you to speak of it. Of course I understood back then that something was afoot – you were all acting strangely. Frodo’s wandering about, all his muttering about if he’d ever see Hobbiton again. Merry and Pippin keeping an eye on him. Even Sam kept suspiciously quiet about it. And you…” He paused, and Fredegar saw that familiar knowing glint in Folco’s eyes, the one he was fairly convinced that Merry never could’ve seen, not with the way he looked at the Boffin. “You were avoiding me. No, don’t argue! I know you, Fatty, and you were outright avoiding me. Didn’t want to see me before Frodo’s party unless we were helping him pack. Didn’t invite me to your birthday party, didn’t come to mine. And yet you seemed happy to see Merry and Pippin.”  
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Fredegar. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t want you to worry. And Merry thought-“

“Oh, who cares what Merry thought?” Folco snorted. “I know what that was. I talk too much, I would’ve blabbed to someone about whatever it was you lot were plotting. It’s always the same with Merry Brandybuck, no matter how old we get. I spill one little secret entirely by accident because he never said it was a secret, and he never forgives me.”

“I did want to tell you. I thought we should. It wasn’t fair to keep you out of it, and you could’ve helped. And that’s why, well, that’s why I want to tell you now. You deserve to know. I’ve scarcely seen you these past two years, and it pains me to think that I could have ended up never seeing you again.”

Folco didn’t argue anymore, but sat quiet and listened while Fredegar told him the whole story, from the very beginning with Merry’s discovery of Bilbo’s little secret and to the night the Conspiracy was revealed. He told of his own little charade at Crickhollow after their friends left, and how badly it had almost gone. And as he spoke, Folco’s expression never changed, but remained carefully neutral.

“And the rest you know,” Fredegar finished lamely. “You know how I was when I came back home, and… Well, then the ruffians came, and I left Budgeford to try to stick it to Lotho.”

He scarcely got to finish his sentence before two arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Folco held him close, clung to him like ivy, and leant his head against his shoulder.

“You could’ve died,” the Boffin murmured. “You absolute fool, you could have gotten yourself killed. Do you realise that? If you’d stayed only a minute longer in that house, you could’ve died. And Merry put you up to this!” Folco drew back for a moment, and Fredegar couldn’t help the sting of dismay he felt at the sight of the infuriated look on the hobbit’s face. “Oh, just wait until I get my hands on him! He knows better than to put someone in such a spot! If he was so insistent on that someone should’ve played the part, he should’ve done so himself instead of putting you up to it!”

“It wasn’t Merry’s fault, Folco,” Fredegar protested. “He didn’t know what would happen! We did what we could with the situation we were handed, and the Black Riders were entirely new to the equation. Merry and I didn’t even know of their existence until Frodo, Pippin, and Sam told us.”

“You would’ve gone with them.” His mood shifting as quick as the current in the Brandywine flowed, Folco’s expression changed to something more dour. “That fifth pony was not a pack-pony at all, was it? It was yours, wasn’t it? If plans hadn’t changed, if they hadn’t been pursued and the decision hadn’t been made about going into the Old Forest, you would’ve gone with them.”

Unable to deny it, Fredegar only nodded; this was part of why he’d been dreading the conversation. He knew Folco’s head better than anyone, save for perhaps the hobbit’s own father; both Vigo and Folco Boffin had quite many twists and turns and leaps in their thoughts that were difficult to follow, but they were as clever and sharp as Frodo, if not more so. There had never been any doubt in the Bolger’s mind that Folco would figure it out without needing to be told.

For a long while, Folco was silent. He still held on to Fredegar, and after heaving a sigh, he leant in close and pressed his forehead to the Bolger’s.

“I’m glad you didn’t go,” he whispered. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to bear the thought of you disappearing like that.”

Fredegar closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Folco. No, he would not have been able to bear the thought of leaving the Boffin behind either. Fond though he was of cousin Frodo, that did not hold a candle to what he felt for Folco; there was never any doubt as to who he would have chosen if put on the spot. Frodo needed him – but Frodo had Sam, Merry, and Pippin by his side. He and Folco only had each other, and these past months had told him quite a lot of how much that closeness really meant to him.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said softly. “I’d sooner get thrown in the Lockholes again.”

“I’m still going to have a word with Merry about this,” Folco insisted. “He would’ve pitched a fit if it were anyone else talking Estella into something like this.”

“That’s different. Estella is a lass. She wouldn’t have been involved in this either way.”

“You don’t know your own sister, do you?”

“Fair point, but please go easy on Merry. For me? It wasn’t his fault.”

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There exists a little notice about an early draft of the Lord of the Rings, about how the fifth pony that Frodo and the others bring with them into the Old Forest was originally intended as something else than a pack-pony - Fredegar was supposed to have gone with them.


	3. At peace

Perhaps it was just as well that his mother was such a horrid old bat, thought Ferumbras to himself as he woke. After all, if she hadn’t been, perhaps he wouldn’t be where he was. Perhaps he would actually have married a nice lass and settled down years ago, and then he would have missed out on the lovely soft bed he rested in – not to mention the hobbit that owned the smial he was in.

He debated for a while whether or not he should stay in bed and simply enjoy the fact that there was no one hounding him to get up; sleeping late was a wonderful habit that he didn’t have many opportunities to indulge in. But the door to the bedroom was cracked open, and a wonderfully toothsome smell wafted through the crack – and just like that, a rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he’d left the Great Smials the evening before without having a bite to eat. He couldn’t quite recall either if he’d eaten anything after arriving where he was. So he rolled out of bed, yawning and stretching lazily, and reluctantly washed his face at the little washbasin and got dressed.

It was such a small smial, he thought, so very different from the opulent dwelling that belonged to the Tooks. But it was perfect in its simplicity. If he hadn’t been the Thain of the Shire – or indeed a Took – he thought he should have liked to live in such a nice little smial.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen when he reached it, a small smile on his face as he watched the hobbit working by the stove. He’d gotten lucky, thought Ferumbras to himself, to have such a hobbit in his life. Perhaps Milo was not anything particularly special; his round jovial face, his warm brown eyes, his thick dark hair, his stocky build, and even his steady and cheerful mood, none of it was uncommon in the Shire. And still – still Ferumbras considered himself very lucky indeed.

“I hope you’re hungry,” said Milo without turning away from his frying pan. “I’m so used to cooking mostly for myself, and I’m quite certain I’ve made too much now…”

Ferumbras laughed quietly as he entered the kitchen; he bypassed the kitchen table altogether and instead went to embrace the other hobbit, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I’m sure it’ll be alright,” he said. “You know I love your cooking.” At peace. There were no other words for how he felt when he visited Milo. No matter how anxious he’d been before or what awaited him when he came home, the other hobbit’s presence calmed him in a way that nothing and no one else could. “I’m sorry for showing up as I did,” he murmured at last. “I should have given you some warning.”

“Now, don’t you apologise for coming to see me,” Milo said firmly. “My home is yours, you know that. Besides, with the bad mood the mistress has been in lately, I daresay you need some escape.”

Though he’d been employed and working at the Great Smials as a gardener since his late tweens, or perhaps because he had been so, Milo certainly held no love for the mistress of the household. Ferumbras’ mother was a pain to deal with on her best days, and she never spared any kindness for those who worked for her. No, the only good thing that had really come out of working there, as Milo sometimes said, was that he’d met Ferumbras.

No one who had anything to do with the Great Smials was blind to how mistress Lalia treated her son. It had perhaps not been as bad before Ferumbras’ father died, but it had impacted the Took’s mood all the same. Milo had seen it all, and had offered a listening ear one day when Ferumbras sorely needed it, and since then they had grown very close. If there was a hobbit in the world that Ferumbras could claim to love with all his heart, it was Milo.

Milo turned his head and pressed a kiss to the Took’s cheek, breaking him out of his reveries.

“You seemed to be miles away. Daydreaming?” Milo chuckled softly at the surprised look on Ferumbras’ face. “Come now, let me put the food on the table. We both need to eat, and I have work to do soon.”

Ferumbras reluctantly released him, but quickly made sure to grab the frying pan from him. The table had already been set for two, and soon enough there was plenty of food on both their plates.

“Do you mind if I stay here today?” Ferumbras asked. A part of him always dreaded being told that he had to go home, though he knew quite well that it was fairly unlikely to happen. “I don’t think I’m ready to go home just yet.”

“Again, my home is yours.” Milo grinned at him and raised an eyebrow. “You can come and go as you please. Besides, it’ll be nice to not come home to an empty smial.”

They kept chatting over breakfast, and even after some years together, Ferumbras still marvelled at how easily the conversation flowed. There was not a single bit that felt forced, nothing that felt incomprehensible or out of place. And once breakfast was over and done with (and once Ferumbras had insisted at least three times that he should take care of washing up since he hadn’t helped to cook), Milo declared that he should be on his way. The family he’d found work for had quite an expansive garden, and there was plenty that needed seeing to.

“I should be home for tea, at the very least,” he promised when Ferumbras followed him to the door. “But don’t you start fretting if I run late, you hear?”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Ferumbras chuckled. “But do try to come home for tea. I’ll have something ready for you.”

Rolling his eyes in response, Milo placed his hands on the Took’s shoulders and pulled him into a gentle kiss. It was certainly not the first time they’d gone through the same motions since Milo had been sacked from his position at the Great Smials, but the familiarity alone felt comforting. Soon enough, the gardener went whistling down the road, and Ferumbras retreated back inside. He did indeed have a thought of what to pass the time with, and a quick look into the pantry confirmed that he’d only need a short walk to the market to accomplish what he had in mind.

“Haven’t had the chance to bake in a while,” he hummed to himself. “But some raspberry scones will do excellently for tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milo is an OC that was thought up by myself and [Panpervinca](https://panpervinca.tumblr.com/).


	4. Twenty-five years

“Paladin, we’re not tweens anymore,” Eglantine sighed as she was brought over the threshold of the smial. “For goodness’ sake, why do you insist on covering my eyes?”

“Because I have a surprise for you, you goose,” Paladin laughed. He felt oddly giddy, something quite unlike him, and he’d been up since the wee hours of the morning to get everything ready. Eglantine had been visiting one of her brothers in Michel Delving for the past two weeks, and now she was finally home; and Paladin had been waiting for her by the road leading up to the farm, eager to greet her.

“You’re just going to lead me to slam against a doorpost,” the hobbitess lamented, though she smiled as she spoke. “That’s what happened last time.”

“Well, rosehip, you’ll just have to trust me.”

“And we know how well that generally goes…”

“Hush, you.”

Giggling like a pair of tweens each time she stumbled, they eventually made their way to the kitchen. Eglantine curiously sniffed the air, and Paladin couldn’t help but grin as he took one last look around to ensure everything was indeed ready before he reached out to remove the blindfold she wore.

As it fell away, Eglantine blinked while her eyes adjusted to the light. And then she laid eyes on the table and gasped.

To say that there was plenty of food was an understatement. There was surely enough to feed their entire family and most of their extended relations. And everything on the table was something that Eglantine loved. Stuffed mushrooms, savoury scones, fish pie, and so much more. It wasn’t often that such a feast was presented in their home, and Paladin still smiled as he watched his wife attempt to work out what she’d missed.

“It isn’t my birthday,” she said slowly as he surprised expression slowly morphed into something more thoughtful. “Nor is it yours.”

“No, indeed,” Paladin agreed easily. “Nor is it the birthday of anyone else we know.”

“Come to think of it,” Eglantine continued as though she hadn’t heard him, “where are the children? Wouldn’t they normally come running as soon as they smelled food?”

“They are in good hands, rosehip, don’t you fret. They’ll be staying with my sisters this week, so we’ll have the smial more or less to ourselves.”

Eglantine snorted and shook her head, though she smiled all the same. With four children, all of whom were quite a handful just on their own, they rarely had time to themselves. Since they’d been wed, the smial had always been filled with other hobbits unless they all but ordered everyone else out so that they might have a moment of silence to themselves.

“Glad as I am for that,” she said, turning to her husband as she spoke, “you’ve still not reminded me of the occasion.”

“Oh, I’ll get to that.” Paladin laughed again and took her hand. “But for now, won’t you join me for dinner? We can discuss the occasion itself after we’ve eaten.”

She did not object, did his dear Eglantine, and soon enough their private little feast was well underway. Paladin had to reluctantly admit that perhaps he’d gone somewhat overboard with the amount of food – but it would hardly go to waste. What they couldn’t eat could always be saved for other meals in the coming days, and it would keep well enough.

“I’m surprised you remember how to cook,” Eglantine stated as she helped herself to a bit more fish pie and a few more stuffed mushrooms. “You’re hardly ever in the kitchen nowadays.”

“Moss and Tulip helped me before they went home to their families,” Paladin admitted. “There was so much to be done that I’d never have managed on my own.”

“Do remember to pay them a bit extra this month, then, darling.”

“I will, I will.”

It hadn’t been altogether easy to put such an opulent dinner in order. Acquiring the fish and the mushrooms had been the easy part – but it was the rest that had taken a bit of time. Even the wine he’d had to barter a little for, and it still came from cousin Ferumbras’ wine cellar. And convincing his sisters to take on his children for the week had been quite difficult; it wasn’t that Garnet, Citrine, and Ruby minded their nieces and their nephew, but simply that they weren’t so young as they’d been once, and they had families of their own to think of.

But the bartering and the arguing had been worth it, all for Eglantine’s smile.

Once they’d eaten their fill and were satisfied, Paladin led Eglantine to the little parlour and made her sit in her chair by the hearth while he went to prepare tea for them.

“You’ve been travelling all day,” he told her when she tried to get up to help him. “Rest, rosehip, and I’ll have the tea done in a jiffy.”

He went back to the kitchen and put the water to boil, but as soon as he’d done so, he snuck back down the passage towards their bedroom. There, on the small bedside table, stood a little wooden box that he picked up and carried with him to the parlour.

“I thought you were making tea,” Eglantine commented lightly when he came back. “Did you want help after all?”

“As though I can’t make a pot of tea without burning the smial down,” Paladin snorted. He smiled at her as he came over to her chair, and he knelt down before her. “I have something for you.” He still smiled at the surprised look on her face when he held out the little box to her, and once she took it, he placed his hands on her lap. “It is normally you who remember and who remind me a month ahead of time,” he said. “So at least this once, it’ll be nice to have surprised you.”

She blinked. And suddenly her eyes widened and she gasped.

“Our anniversary,” she cried. “Stars above, how did I forget our anniversary?”

“You ask me every year how I forget,” Paladin laughed. “But now you know what it feels like. One certainly doesn’t mean to, but time flies by. Come now; won’t you open your gift?”

Even while muttering to herself about not having a gift for her husband, which he simply waved away, she opened the box. For a long while she simply sat there and stared at what was in it, until Paladin gently made her lower her hands; he reached out and plucked from the box a silver chain on which hung a small pendant of gold in the shape of an eglantine rose.

“Twenty-five years I’ve been your husband,” he said softly as she leant down towards him, and he reached out to hang the necklace about her neck. “Through good and bad. I’ve not regretted a single moment. All this time we’ve had together, every minute of it, has been right. Whether we met by chance or not, I know that I am grateful for every day I have with you.”

As she straightened again, her fingers carefully trailing over the silver chain, Paladin thought back to the day they’d met. Even now, twenty-five years later, he couldn’t quite believe that she’d chosen him. She was as fair now as she’d been back then, even when time had put grey streaks in her dark hair and her face had gained a few more lines.

“Have you thought to thank Ferumbras yet?” she asked softly, a spark of mischief in her eyes as she gazed back at him. “Did he write again this year about that?”

“He did.” Paladin laughed and shook his head as he rose again. “But yes, I’ve given my yearly thanks for introducing us to each other, crude though his methods were.”

“Well, he never had a chance to actually say what he was about to say,” Eglantine laughed. “I’m almost tempted to ask him to say it and have done.”

“What does it say about us,” asked Paladin, “when he remembers our anniversary better than either of us simply because he introduced us to each other and is gleeful about it?”

“I think it says that he cares. Now, don’t you think the tea-water is boiling yet?”


	5. Sunshine

“A Baggins with such a sunny personality is about as rare as a Brandybuck with an aversion to water.”

It had been a kind way for aunt Adamanta to tell Chica that Bingo Baggins was, by all appearances, rather unique. The Chubbs had not had much to do with the Baggins-family of Hobbiton before, though they of course knew of them. But with the Tooks having a connection to both families – and twice over, in the case of the latter – Chica reasoned that it was practically unavoidable that the Chubbs and the Bagginses would meet. The Thain did love a good party, not to mention a chance to bother certain hobbits. Chica’s father, who was the younger brother of the Thain’s Lady, was at the very least on good terms with his brother-in-law. The same could perhaps not be said for the head of the Bagginses.

And yet, when a party had been planned for the Thain’s hundred-and-fifth birthday, the Bagginses were there. Chica had been surprised to hear of their decision to attend, but aunt Adamanta had only laughed and shook her head.

“Well, you know your cousin Belladonna,” the old hobbitess had said to her niece. “She was always going to go – and where she goes, her husband and son will follow. And I daresay that she talked her in-laws into agreeing to go.”

Yes, cousin Belladonna could be very headstrong indeed, and perhaps it was a good thing, too. Old Gerontius seemed delighted to have a chance to bother Mungo Baggins, and it seemed that the families were getting along quite well.

And then there was Bingo.

Chica had at first refused to believe that the young hobbit was actually a Baggins. The rest of the family was quite reserved, although friendly; but Bingo, he flew through the party like a little whirlwind of smiles and laughter, and he seemed to charm everyone he met. He fit right in with the Tooks, and he certainly charmed the Chubbs as well. Cousin Belladonna’s husband, Bungo, seemed to be keeping an eye on his little brother, though he generally seemed to regard the younger hobbit’s antics with a fond smile and a headshake.

And Chica, though she tried to be as proper and mature as a lass of thirty-one ought to be, couldn’t help but be pulled in by his smile and his laughter when they eventually came to be speaking to each other. Though she thought that there was not much to know or to tell of her family and their doings, Bingo had soon wheedled her into regaling him with stories of their home in the Northfarthing and of her extended relations; not once did he show a sign of being bored or wanting her to stop.

It was, all in all, quite a successful party. And at the end of it, Chica and Bingo had become fast friends and agreed to write to each other.

That had been four years ago, and time seemed to have flown by like a flock of migrating birds. Things had changed, to say the least. And still, waking up beside Bingo the morning after their wedding had Chica quite convinced that of all the memories, this would be one to stay in her mind until her dying day.

He looked so very peaceful, did dear Bingo, where he laid next to her, as naked as the day he was born aside from the blanket that was barely covering him. Though his eyes were closed, his smile rather betrayed that he was not asleep.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said softly, her own smile widening when he chuckled at the nickname. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” Bingo answered without opening his eyes. “You were here, after all.”

Chica wriggled closer to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek; still without opening his eyes, Bingo put his arm around her waist and held her close.

“Should be time for second breakfast soon, I reckon,” he hummed. “I suppose they’re letting us sleep in for once.”

Chica laughed quietly. If she strained her ears somewhat, she could indeed hear voices further off in the smial. There was a little home waiting for them, a lovely little smial in Overhill that their fathers had bought for them as a joint wedding gift, but rather than make the journey so late after the wedding and the reception, they had stayed with Bingo’s family in the smial of Hillsend. Chica’s own parents were staying with cousin Belladonna and Bungo up at Bag End. The Bagginses, ever practical, had reasoned that it would be ridiculous to force the Chubbs to take rooms at an inn for the short time they’d be staying in Hobbiton.

They laid there close together, basking in the sunlight that filtered through the window; it was the first morning of the rest of their lives together, and it was one to be savoured. It wasn’t until they heard quiet footsteps coming down the passage that Bingo heaved a sigh and pulled the blankets up to cover them a bit better.

“Bingo? Chica?” Chica couldn’t help but smile at the soft voice of her mother and the familiar knock at the door. It seemed her parents had come down from Bag End. “Are you awake?”

“Awake, yes,” Chica answered. “But don’t open the door, mum. We’re not decent just yet.”

“Well, second breakfast will be on the table in a minute or two. If you want anything to eat, I suggest you roll out of bed.”

“We’ll be there in a moment.” Chica laughed again when Bingo let out a groan of protest. “Well, I’m hungry, Bingo! And you will be hungry soon too! Better we eat properly before we have to pack up and go to our new home, don’t you think?”

“What manner of cruelty is this?” Bingo groaned again as he opened his eyes, though he smiled as he spoke. “Can’t a hobbit have a quiet lie-in with his wife the morning after his wedding?”

“I’m sure he can,” called Chica’s mother with a laugh from the passage. “But I reckon you’ll want to eat, too, and you’re supposed to leave just after luncheon!”

As her mother’s footsteps faded away down the passage again, Chica reluctantly disentangled herself from her husband’s embrace and rolled out of bed. All the while as she washed her face and dressed herself, she felt his eyes on her.

“We’re quite lucky,” he hummed behind her. She heard the creaking of the bed as he got up and padding footsteps, and soon his arms were around her again. “To think we’ll have a smial to ourselves. No one to bother us, no family to get in the way…”

“We’re lucky,” she agreed. “And I cannot properly express how glad I am to share that luck with you, sunshine.” Soft lips pressed against her temple before the arms withdrew from her waist, and she smiled as she turned to face him. “Now, you’d best hurry up, Bingo Baggins. It certainly is not my problem that you decided to stare at me rather than getting dressed, but if you’re not ready soon, I’ll have eaten your share.”

“As though my parents don’t keep enough food in the pantry to feed half of Hobbiton,” Bingo snorted, but he went to wash his face all the same. “Well, you go ahead, dear heart. I’ll be there in a moment.”


	6. Common sense

It had been a good idea, Rosa thought, to have Adalgrim stay at the Great Smials with his uncle Isumbras and cousin Fortinbras for a while. The farm really was more peaceful with the lad away; Tooks were so loud sometimes without realising it, though she took care not to voice that thought out loud. With Adalgrim away, both she and her husband could focus on what tasks they actually needed to get done, rather than attempting to keep their son out of mischief.

With those tasks in mind, it was therefore something of a surprise for Rosa to bring a cup of tea with her into the parlour, intending to sit there while mending a few clothes, and find her husband sitting in his chair and staring at the fire with an absolutely despairing look on his face.

“Has something happened, Hildi?” she asked cautiously as she came closer to him and put her teacup down on the table. “Weren’t you going to help shear the sheep today?”

“In a while,” Hildigrim mumbled in response. “I’m just trying to figure something out first, rosebud.”

Rosa frowned. She was not entirely unused to these moods her husband could suddenly display, but they normally had some sort of discernible reason. To find him simply sitting in the parlour staring at the fire was quite out of the ordinary; and that in combination with the look of despair on his face did not bode well.

“Have you had word from your brother?” she asked. “Any news of Adalgrim?”

“Yes.” He shook himself and looked up at her, shooting her a small smile that was likely meant to be reassuring. “But nothing bad, I promise. Fortinbras is keeping him out of trouble, and it doesn’t seem that Isumbras and Ruby have found him too difficult to deal with.”

“Then what’s on your mind? You’ve the same look on your face as when Adalgrim let the pigs out of their pen.”

Hildigrim groaned loudly at the reminder, and Rosa couldn’t help a small smile in response. To say that their son was prone to mischief was something of an understatement; he might not always have intended the mischief he got up to, but it happened all the same and caused his father no end of trouble. The despairing look on Hildigrim’s face was most common if Adalgrim was involved, and Rosa had learned that quite fast.

“Our son is a tween now,” the Took said at length once Rosa had taken her seat beside him. “It struck me just this morning that he’s in his tweens. He’s not of age yet, but he is a young adult.”

“That would be the definition of a tweenager, yes,” Rosa agreed easily. She took a sip of her tea, eyes still on her husband as she watched for any changes in his expression. “And you were present at his twenty-second birthday.”

“Adalgrim is at that age now,” Hildigrim stressed, “where he’s going to start to notice some, ah, interesting differences between lads and lasses.”

Ah. There it was.

“He’s going to start taking notice of certain things in life now,” Hildigrim continued. “Just like I did at that age.”

Rosa smiled to herself and set her cup down. Perhaps this issue was not entirely unexpected. While her husband might not regret his past, it came with certain concerns that he’d expressed even years before when Adalgrim was but a babe.

“To the point, my love,” she said. “Tell me what you’re actually worried about.”

“I’m trying to,” the Took groused. “I just don’t like to consider it.” He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at her with wide and worried green eyes. “What if he does what I did? I don’t know what I’ll do if our son becomes the town pony. How am I supposed to handle that? I don’t want him to have the same reputation as I did – mine has never been forgotten, and I’ve been married to you for twenty-two years!”

Though she wrinkled her nose somewhat at the term “town pony”, Rosa nodded; it was not an unreasonable worry, though it was one they had tip-toed around for a number of years already. She had brought it up with her father once, and the old hobbit had only sighed and told her that it was best to take these things in stride. If or when Adalgrim took an interest in such matters, it would be best to have that conversation with the lad when the time came and not sooner.

“Have you noticed anything yet?” she asked. “Has he been making eyes at lasses or lads?”

“I’ve only caught him doing that once,” Hildigrim admitted. “But it makes me worry. He’s still so young, rosebud, and you know what he’s like – sometimes he just doesn’t think before he acts. What if that lands him in trouble that’s too big for him? What if he-“ He cut himself off and grimaced and gestured between them. “What if he does what we did? What if what happened with us happens to him and someone else?”

Rosa raised an eyebrow. It was not that her husband regretted what had happened, she knew that very well. But she thought of her son and what she knew of his temper and his behaviour; it would be unfair to the lad to claim that he was just like his father. No, Adalgrim had a mite more sense than any of the sons of Gerontius Took used to have at his age. It was the Baggins-blood, she thought – it simply seemed to smooth out wrinkles here and there, so to speak. Of course he was mischievous, and of course he did occasionally act before thinking, but could he always be faulted for that? And who was to say that he would behave in such a manner when it came to this?

And besides…

“My love, I daresay we both thought quite carefully before we did what we did,” she said firmly. “At least I shan’t be making excuses for myself. Perhaps we initially had little else in mind than a few stolen kisses, but it certainly went further than that. But you asked me if I wanted to – and I said yes. That was a conscious act from both of us.” She sighed softly and smiled again at the contrite expression that rapidly appeared on her husband’s face. “No, I don’t mean to twit you over that. I know what you meant. But Hildi, do you really think that Adalgrim would display such a blatant lack of caution?”

“I don’t know what else to think, rosebud.”

“You mentioned your reputation, my love. Consider that – Adalgrim has that following him. He’ll always have it hanging over his head that his father couldn’t keep it in his trousers and that his mother couldn’t resist lifting her skirt for someone. No, don’t give me that look! Just, listen to what I’m saying and try to understand.”

“You’re saying that my reputation is precisely what will keep him out of trouble,” Hildigrim sighed. “I don’t know, rosebud…”

Rosa laughed softly and reached out, taking his hand in hers and lacing their fingers together.

“Well, you’ll just have to trust me,” she said.

“Is this about the common sense of a Baggins again?”

“It absolutely is.”

Finally the worried expression began to melt away from the Took’s face, and he smiled back at her and gently squeezed her hand.

“Far be it from my mind to question that force of nature,” he chuckled. “But I believe I’ll have a word with him, all the same, if only to confirm that he is being careful.”

“When he’s home, my love. Now, I believe you have a bunch of sheep to shear. Don’t you let your farmhands do all the work for you.”

Hildigrim got to his feet, pausing only briefly to lean down and kiss her. And as he swept out of the room, Rosa sighed to herself and shook her head as she picked up her cup of tea again and took another sip.

“Tooks,” she murmured. “Ever such a handful, no matter their mood.”


	7. Through good times and bad

Every now and then, Ponto Baggins would be called on by his elder brother Mungo to perform some task or another that required a head for numbers. It wasn’t that the head of the Bagginses couldn’t do it on his own – he most certainly could. But since they were but children, he’d learned that Ponto was quicker and surer when it came to working with numbers. And Ponto, whenever he was called on to perform such a task, would twit his brother for a while before reluctantly accepting. It could get wearisome to be one of the hobbits that the Master of the Hill trusted most, especially when he had already taken it on himself to tutor the younger hobbits in the family.

Occasionally, the problems he’d be asked to solve were quite time-consuming and difficult. Those would often have him stay in his study for hours on end, emerging only to eat or to find himself something to drink or to sleep, until the issue was solved. That was perhaps not so unusual in his family – when a Baggins was focused on something, nothing else would come between them and whatever it was they were doing. No, the unusual part in Ponto’s case was whenever he would take anything stronger than ale to his study.

So when he one evening came stumbling out of his study and went straight to the wine-cellar to fetch himself a drink before returning to his work, he couldn’t claim that he was particularly surprised when his wife Mimosa followed him.

“Brandy,” said the hobbitess in the doorway before Ponto had a chance to sit down. “Really now, Ponto.”

Ponto could only heave a quiet sigh. The disapproval in his wife’s voice was not precisely anything new. It wasn’t that she minded that he had a drink every now and then – it was more the circumstances that bothered her.

“I don’t feel that I’m getting anywhere with this nonsense,” he admitted as he sat down and looked up at her.

“A drink is not going to help you,” Mimosa sniped back. “But perhaps you could try to say no to your brother every once in a while?”

“He would not ask me for help unless he had to. And if I said no, he would accept that.”

Mimosa sniffed and shook her head. Perhaps it was that she was a Bunce by birth, Ponto thought to himself; Bunces were, above all, practical, and she heartily disapproved of the sort of nonsense that her husband’s siblings could bring to their door. Not that Bagginses weren’t practical too, but for all their love of all things respectable and enduring, their minds tended to run a bit ahead of everyone else’s. Every now and then, Mungo had an idea – such as the latest one that was about the smials he’d suggested should be built on the eastern side of the Hill, right across the road towards Overhill. He’d of course involved his brothers in it, and they were quite happy to help. It would solve a lot of potential housing-issues in Hobbiton, after all, and the plot of land that had been suggested was nothing but unused meadows.

“I know you don’t like it,” he tried, giving her a small smile as he picked up his snifter and took a sip of the brandy. “But think about it, my dear. This will benefit a lot of people once it’s all done, and my involvement is admittedly quite small this time.”

“Small,” she snorted in response. “You’ve spent two days straight in this study, Ponto Baggins, and I’ve scarcely laid eyes on you!”

“Small doesn’t mean it isn’t tricky.” Mimosa planted her hands on her hips and levelled a sharp-eyed glare at him, and Ponto struggled to keep himself from wincing; now that was a look he knew very well. “Now, Mimosa, dear-“

“Don’t you ‘Mimosa, dear’ me, Ponto Baggins! You have a family of your own to see to! That our daughter gained a husband sooner than expected certainly does not give you leave to forget about your son!”

“I’ve not forgotten about him.” And he blinked. Now there was a bit of likely persuasion to give him some peace to work. “In fact, consider it this way – once the smials are built, Polo would have the chance of having a smial of his own when he comes of age.”

“And what of our home? What of Willow Grove?”

“Why, of course that would return to the keeping of the family once you and I are gone. But my dear, if Polo wants something of his own, should he not have it? Would you have him stay in Willow Grove all his life?”

Something flitted over Mimosa’s face that had Ponto’s stomach twisting uncomfortably. His dear wife was not the overly emotional type; in fact, he was fairly certain that he could count the occasions when he’d seen her cry on one hand. Yet the look on her face, a combination of pain and worry, had him dreading he’d be adding to the tally again.

“Mimosa, dear?” he said carefully. “What’s wrong?”

She closed the door behind her with a snap, and Ponto’s heart sank a little in his chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, he thought, he should have realised that something wasn’t quite as it ought.

“Are we bad parents?” she blurted out as she looked back at him. “Do we not treat our children as we ought?”

Ponto put down the snifter with brandy and got to his feet, quickly rounded his desk and closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her temple when she leant into the embrace.

“Why in the world are you asking me this?” he asked softly. “What has worried you so?”

“Rosa, of course,” Mimosa said sadly. “I know you keep telling me not to fret about her, but how can I not? Look at the web she was caught in! And of course Hildigrim isn’t such a terrible fellow, but where in the world did she get the idea to do anything with him at all? Didn’t we raise her better than that? Better than to lift her skirts for the first fellow to show interest in her? And if Rosa was caught up in such matters, who’s to say Polo won’t be?”

Ponto frowned. Rosa’s unfortunate attachment to Hildigrim Took had been a tricky business to navigate without stepping on any toes, and one could not fairly say that it was all over and done with just yet, even with the pair married and already having a baby to care for together. He briefly imagined Polo getting mixed up in similar business, and promptly felt his heart give an uncomfortable lurch.

“He won’t, my dear, of course he won’t,” he said. At least he hoped Polo wouldn’t, he thought to himself. “He has a mite more sense than that, don’t you think?” At least he hoped so… “And Rosa wasn’t thinking. One cannot say that doesn’t happen. Look at Mungo and Laura. Our lass isn’t the first Baggins to get caught up in such matters.”

“But at her age,” Mimosa argued. She drew back a little and stared at him with wide tear-filled brown eyes. “I don’t know if I can take it, Ponto. I feel judged and besieged just going to the market nowadays when Rosa’s been wed – I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if Polo goes down the same path.”

“He’s seen the mess it brought his sister, and he dislikes going through too much trouble for anything. Considering how he barely wants to go through the trouble of arguing with the tailor about whether or not a new shirt actually suits him,” Ponto commented drily, a spark of humour returning to both his eyes and voice, “I sincerely doubt he’ll go through the trouble of getting a lass with child and having to marry her before he’s of age.”

The corners of Mimosa’s mouth twitched, as though she tried to keep herself from smiling, though there were already tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You Bagginses,” she sighed. “I swear he gets that from you.”

“I’ll have you know I always argue with the tailor no matter if the shirt looks good or not.” Finally she huffed a laugh and smiled at him, and Ponto smiled softly back at her as he took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. “There’s a smile, my dear. Now, don’t you fret. You’re the best mother our children could ever have, and they’re both very sensible and wonderful young hobbits. And I’d argue that Rosa is quite happy nowadays, despite how she came to be where she is.”

“Perhaps so.” She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, but kept a gimlet eye on him. “But don’t you dare think for a moment that this has made me forget about what I initially came in here for. Tomorrow I want you out of this study, Ponto. You are going to do something else with your time than sitting in here while deliberately frustrating yourself over an issue you didn’t have to deal with in the first place.”


	8. Ridiculous stories

That there were rumours going around about the two of them was perhaps nothing strange. If anything in the Shire got around faster than actual news, it was gossip and rumours, and Mungo had rather resigned himself to the fate of being talked about on the day he decided that he would be wed to Laura Grubb. And yet nothing had entirely prepared him for the day that word would reach his ears of strange rumours regarding him and the Thain, of all possible hobbits.

There were seventeen years between them. What few mutual friends they had was simply due to their social positions; as the Heads of their families, they could not simply ignore other family-heads, after all. They would likely not have met at all if not for the fact that their fathers had been close friends. And, to top it all off, they generally could not stand each other. All in all, there was no sort of foundation of any sort for the rumours to rest on.

And yet they were there. They were there, and Mungo had to wonder if he wasn’t simply having some sort of nightmare on the day that Gerontius Took himself came to the little smial of Hillsend and asked to speak with him in private.

“Whatever this is about,” Mungo said gruffly as he led the Thain into his study, “keep it short. There are other matters I must see to.”

“I hope you realise that I’d rather not be here, master Baggins,” Gerontius answered tersely. “But circumstances are the way they are, and I suppose I had little choice in the matter. There is something we must discuss, and I think you know what it is.”

“I’m not certain of what I’ve done to make you hold me in such esteem that you believe me able to read minds.” Ignoring the withering glare from his companion at that comment, Mungo took a seat by his desk and gestured to one of the other chairs in the room. He’d been meant to hold a lesson with his younger sons in history, but the Thain’s visit had rather demanded that the lesson be postponed. And postponing the lesson meant that other matters would also be pushed aside. It rather ruined the entire schedule for the day. “So humour me and just tell me what it is.”

Gerontius reluctantly sat down. He looked oddly out of place in the little study, and Mungo couldn’t quite decide if it was simply that the Took would normally avoid Hillsend like the plague that caused it or if it was that he was actually uncomfortable.

“There’s a ridiculous story going around,” the Thain said at length. “About the two of us.” He grimaced suddenly and shook his head. “And, well, it certainly is not something that ought to make the rounds at all. I’d rather wondered if you’d thought it up to mock me, actually.”

“I still don’t know what it is,” Mungo sighed. “Just say it and have done.”

Gerontius took a deep breath, as though to steel himself, and closed his eyes before he spoke, as though he expected an outburst of rage to follow his words.

“There is a rumour making the rounds about you and I having been lovers for a time.”

Truth be told, there were really only three ways to react to such a statement. Anger, astonishment, or disgust. Initially, Mungo’s mind leapt to astonishment, and he let out a bark of laughter at the thought; such stories had never even been told of their fathers, and they at the very least had been close enough for it to be borderline plausible. Then he noticed the almost pained look on the Thain’s face, and the astonishment faded and gave way to both anger and disgust. And then those faded just as quickly and allowed a rather disquieting curiosity to take their place.

“Lovers,” he repeated. “Please tell me this is a poor idea of a joke.”

“I wish I could,” Gerontius grumbled, reluctantly opening his eyes again. “But I’ve had people outright ask me about that rumour, if it is true or not.”

“And why in the world would such a ridiculous bit of gossip exist at all?”

“If I knew, I certainly would not be here to discuss it with you, but rather go straight to the source to end it.”

Mungo tried to imagine what precisely it was that would have made people believe such a thing. Perhaps it was the way they treated each other; he had to admit that they could be downright unreasonable in their dislike for each other, and perhaps that had caused some folk to see things that weren’t there. There were those, he knew, who thought that a lad pulling the hair of a lass was some idiotic sign of affection. And he and the Thain had done a mite more than pull at each other’s hair.

He peered at the Took and tilted his head. For the briefest of moments, he tried to see it from another point of view. Gerontius was not unattractive; loud, rude, self-centred, and a bully, of course, but physically speaking he was pleasing to the eye. A bit taller and paler than hobbits ought to be, in Mungo’s view, but that was simply Tooks for you. But he was well-built, with strong arms and legs and a generous waistline, and his face was lined with many little laugh-lines. He had an air of confidence about him that drew other hobbits in and made them trust him.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Mungo asked at last, shaking himself from his reveries. “Folk will gossip as they please, and it certainly won’t get better if we try to shut them up.”

“Perhaps so, but it can only get worse from here,” the Took sniped back. “I can’t say I like the idea of folk speculating about me snogging you behind my wife’s back.”

Images came quite unbidden to Mungo’s mind, and he had to struggle for a moment to keep his features under control. For just as brief a moment as before, he saw in his thoughts himself with his back against a wall and with his lips being claimed by Gerontius. He could almost feel a hand on the back of his neck, drawing him close.

He must have let out some sort of noise, for Gerontius gestured to him with a rather derisive smile.

“Glad we’re on the same page there,” the Took said. “It would be a nightmare both of us could do without.”

“A nightmare, indeed,” Mungo croaked. He cleared his throat and shook his head, hoping that the heat he felt rushing to his cheeks didn’t cause them to visibly redden. “All the same, I fail to understand what you are asking of me. So this rumour exists. What am I to do about it? Again, I cannot tell folk to stop – they’d surely think we were hiding something, and then they’d believe the story to be true.”

 

They’d argued for quite some time before Gerontius bade master Baggins a good afternoon and left Hillsend. He had business to see to in Bywater all the same, and he stayed the night at the Green Dragon inn before returning home to Tuckborough the next morning. It was a rather dull journey, he thought, made all the more wearisome by his own insistence on taking the fastest route via the Quick Post Road that lead cross-country. It was full of potholes, and he found himself grumbling and growling like a dog in a kennel every time his pony stumbled. But his mind was on other matters than the state of the road, and when he arrived at the Great Smials and was asked by his wife if the journey home went well, he found he couldn’t recall if it had or not.

No, his mind was indeed on other matters. The conversation with master Baggins, and indeed the rumour in general, had sparked something else in his thoughts that he had been arguing with himself about.

And as he sank into a hot bath a little later to wash the travel-dust off, he found his mind very stubbornly returning over and over again to Mungo Baggins’ sharp grey eyes, his haughty smile, and his ever infuriating silver-tongue.

“Ridiculous rumours,” he grumbled to himself as he sank a little further into the tub in an attempt to convince himself that the heat rushing to his cheeks came from the water and nothing else. “Do folk have nothing better to do than make up stories?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know my secret. The Hatemance Crackship. I can't NOT ship them, it's too hilarious of an opportunity.


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